Saturday, December 29, 2018

Two Viewing Highlights of 2018


Not being a miner of YouTube & the others, these two items were forwarded by friends, both in the last couple of months. Scott in Southern California and George in Melbourne.

Chris Hedges in the former case (Sacrifice Zones of America) and one of the most honourable Australians in the latter, John Pilger (Never Again).

The US at home and abroad the foci, which of course concerns us all; many of our home countries are involved in close alliances and parallel circumstances. Hedges' summation is masterful, while in his examination of the S. China Sea confrontation Pilger begins with Bikini Atoll in the Marshall Islands, progressing to Okinawa & Jeju Isle (Korea); a good deal of important fine detail delivered.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZBcOyv8LZ8s

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QXFProJC5FY

A couple of hours concentrated viewing in both cases.

Happy 19 one & all
Pavle

Friday, December 28, 2018

Galleria



Late morn too the Nepali guard in the chair by the Money-changer at the entry nodding off like a baby. Fellow had missed both the British Gurkha in-take and then the second level Singaporean immediately below, easy to see why. Along the passage beyond KFC and Dunkin the beautiful young Malay girl in her scarf and uniform wheeling her rubbish trolly without the slightest inkling of her loveliness. My Fair Lady easy flipped. Each morning on her rounds the lass kept close to the walls in order to give the shoppers the widest berth. (Do her chances in the lottery improve by her loveliness, or worsen? Hard not to worry for her.) This morning the deep intake of breath at the leather goods stand had been a little late, the pungency of the treated hides flooding the lungs bad. You needed two metres in advance and a long draught in order to make the clearance of the same length on the other side. Opposite the Info stand what was it called now? Secret Recipe KAFE. There were no hard feelings; no complaints had been made at the time. Not a great secret either: it was the ayam, the chicken that gave all the flavour to their Caesar there. Without it, for a vegetarian, what did they have? Lettuce,  croutons of a sort and diced hard boiled egg. The nervous lad serving had asked whether the dressing would be alright, leading to some confusion over “olive oil.” (Fat chance.) Perhaps it was best to put it on the side?... Good idea. “Wifi problem,” the lad smilingly confessed, rather too broad for apology, but no doubting the innocence. With the unexpectedly tasty minestreafter such a long stretch—a dish that brought back Sisto hacked down in the street by the wild Somali in Melbourne—RM6. Clearly short of $AUS2.

              
Galleria Mall opposite the Gurdwara, JB old town, Malaysia

Thursday, December 27, 2018

Sumptuous (Naan & Puthena)


Following some weighing late afternoon Nilla it was that would be given a try for their nan. An initial look at the veg. counter proving underwhelming, a turn on heel and march out the door almost ensued. What stopped the progress was first the sight of the oven just inside the threshold. Well, that was a start then. But what would one get here with the roti, the baked dough, the nan? What about asking the lad at the CD counter opposite standing there like an advertisement hoeing with convincing relish into the very thing? Good timing my man. Here the platter held two servings, dahl it looked and was that some kind of roasted vegetable? No, not dalh, that was…. Poori.... Really? Didn’t look like, but of course the lad would know better. Blended maybe? The other was no good. Meat. Non-veg. What about they rustle up the poori, dahl and…. Leave it to him, sensible fellow one could see immediately. The young Paki chap who had been at Medina the year previous had reported that the Master Mumbai nan-maker formerly on the corner was now working at a stall in the side lorong off the main drag. A careful look the length of that dark passage had turned up nada. No nan. The fluffy, puffy nan at Reaz Corner ought not to be taken night after night for a fortnight. (Though in fact the stool remained all soft, loose and friable regardless. Excuse the info load those less curious.) Some variation notwithstanding. Muthu may have done a nan; it was uncertain. Immediately before coming out a Trip Advisor item had been posted in answer to a chap attacking the cashier at Muthu,an unjustifiable charge of dark looks, peevishness and ill-manners unable to be let pass. Easy to guess a Chinese up from the Republic. After the dark lorong and the less than inspiring veg. counter at Nilla the thought had been Muthu. Twice in the day was overdoing it, but never mind. The other Indian was a kilometre up Jalan Trus, Straight Road. Past half-eight, No to that. Whereupon the painted faux-clay with the gas bottle beneath and the heat radiating into Nilla's passage; lad bent at his tray advertising &etc. “Two,” the chap assumed. Thin young lad thinking the bigger white…. One enough then? One single disc done just so, dahl, finely diced onion in a milky base and the puthenaPuthena, not poori. The lad was responsible for the spelling. Some printed paper cut into little squares and held together by a clip sat in the drawer below the shelves of CDs. The whole of the four inch square was a waste: lad creased beneath PUTHENA and tore off the half-inch bottom of the sheet. Chap twigged the inquisitor needed his information in clear block lettering. One of the secrets to managing weight was slow consumption, chewing as the manuals advocated and savouring each morsel. Tasty fare helped. Almost a crime a heist like that—RM2.69 (sensibly rounded to 70sen by the Nilla cashier). Clearly under one Australian dollar and well and truly short of the George Wash. An old friend in a mail through the afternoon had reminded of our feasting at Chika Ante the Dalmatian’s Vineyard steakhouse in Acland Street, St. Kilda back in the day, the Texan-sized sides of beef no exaggeration. Made a turned-leaf vegetarian queasy now. There were no pisang at Nilla, nor halia tea either. Indian Indian; not Indian Malaysian. Reaz would fix that.... It really did need reminder: it was the Eve that had brought out the knots of people, for all that the State of Johor ran an Islamic working week, Sunday – Thursday. The day before one of the PAS heads here—the harder core Islamist party—had suggested Muslims not get caught up in their neighbours' Christmas. Even greetings a Muslim ought to keep to a minimum &etc., counselled the Divine. Given the siege in the malls and on all other imaginable fronts, could one really blame the man?

NB. Pudina possibly the received spelling.

                                                                                              Johor Bahru, Malaysia, Christmas Eve, 2018

Tuesday, December 25, 2018

Jingle Bells and the Seven Dwarfs



snowwhite small letters no spacing was the password at J. Co. in the mall here. Nothing in particular first hearing; yeah whatever. It was over the road however for the beverage, where the short busty Scarf recalled the customer from six months before. No need say, the woman had no English; but she recalled alright. Impossible not to be charmed by the cascading sequence of Thanks in three languages that rained down upon her head: makasih, shukrija, nandri. The woman smiled, only to produce ten minutes later a very much below par halia, flat and without anything resembling a bubble. Yes, yes, it had been pulled earlier, the woman affirmed. Coulda fooled me Love. Malay most likely; perhaps some part recessive Indian. They often stretched you here even after all this time. Hearing Trumpet on the screen behind about the shutdown of Congress over the Wall one couldn’t help looking around at the faces, scanning for any jittery knees in particular, or—counter intuitively on the Equator—ice cool sliding glances. The right/wrong kinda fella here would not hesitate to take-out a dozen of his co-religionists with his prized scalp. Scores of men and women from Malaysia had joined the ranks of the fighters over there. Both in stature and colouration the Mexicans and Central Americans would immediately be identified as allies in these parts, even if it had been Obama building the Wall or droning them. Giant Komtar mall opposite didn’t help and neither did the fancy hotel opened fifty metres down that incorporated the most fall-down-laughing Highland bar & resto in creation. (MacGregor’s.) The day before an electric piano Santa’s Helper had her amplifier turned up there spreading her seasonal cheer; the mute chorus of similarly outfitted locals standing off must have been house staff. Did the lass read the news the other day from Morocco of the pair of bright-eyed innocents her age? In the mall the staff at one of the clothing outlets rang little hand bells to draw customers. Red caps and bunting throughout. Last night around the back street by the hotel a half-dozen ladies comfortably spaced on the incline with the pimp on his chair by the stairs couldn’t be made out in the dark and were only betrayed by their bass voices. Best to give that pass a miss just at present. Another bomb in Somalia, unless the footage had been a few days old; followed by football on the screen. The jumpy guy was finally sighted back-turned opposite a Scarf who had fired out a couple of blushing smiles earlier that could only add fuel to his fire. Turning round a single glance was enough to identify his target. In the whiteboard scrawl there was an offering of NASI GORENG USA at this no-name place. They’d be waiting a while to see that delicacy delivered to the table. A bomb in the mall on the other hand would not go astray, clear out all the people first. A stinker if nothing else. Snow white for crying out loud! Was it a seasonal selection perchance? Certainly it could not be recalled from the July visit here. The request had been made wordlessly, simply showing the phone to the boys behind the counter. Without raising his eyes the lad by the barista had helpfully provided the translation to make it easier: Salju puti. (For obvious reasons unheard previously.)

Sunday, December 23, 2018

Circumcision and the Pleasure Principle


Thus far, over seven years in the region, there had been no need to address the issue. Years ago in Melbourne Faisal at the Footscray café had dismissed the controversy as typical Western mischief-making. In the Eritrean and wider African community no one practiced female circumcision, suggested Faisal.
         Among the Singaporean Malays it had passed entirely without mention, and if the practice occurred in Indonesia it was a closely guarded secret.
         In Malaysia this morning’s newspaper featured a long item on its Letters page, where a female researcher and activist affiliated with the International Women’s Alliance for Family & Quality Education summarized the position.
         It seems female circumcision (FC) was a cultural practise that predated Islam; the discussion revolving around the Hadiths, the sayings of the Prophet (as distinct from the Holy Book, the Qur’an).
         Firstly, the writer made a hard distinction between FC and female genital mutilation (FGM), the latter being “forbidden in Islam as it would have an adverse effect on women.”
         Proponents suggested as for male circumcision, FC was compulsory; others regarded it as sunnah—an act of worship that was encouraged, but not obligatory.
         Various viewpoints from the different schools of law—Hanafi, Maliki, Shafii—were presented in the article, and passages of Hadith, which latter were graded weak (daif), or sound (sahih).
         Community and religious leaders were cited for interpretation, and the writer stated that the Qur’an did not condemn FC, “as long as it does not compromise the health of the female.”
         Two passages from one of the “sound” Hadiths reported the putative words of the Prophet:
         (To a woman in Medina who had performed FC) “Do not cut severely as that is better for a woman and more desirable for a husband.”
         And “Do not cut off too much as it is a source of enjoyment for the woman and more likable to her husband…. When you circumcise, you must not cut off too much as it is a source of loveliness of the face and more enjoyable for the husband.”
         In the afternoon over coffee an academic friend (female) reported that she was unaware of the practise of FC in Malaysia until it had been brought up at one of the UN forums since the recent election.

NB. The friend above subsequently forwarded a recent Youtube posting that treated the position more fully, without mention of the Prophet’s insights.

New Sunday Times, 23 Dec 2018

Art Star 2# (updated Oct23)


Reminded of roughhouse Greg - Shantaram - Roberts turning into a cad after his great success, Hollywood adaptation; &etc. The karung guni abstract painter caught on the No. 2 on Victoria Street must have been coming out of Immigration. Unsighted initially, it was the woman with child that caught the attention, entering and edging along the passage. Aduh! Down with the sneering and superciliousness; totally uncalled for… Tall, well-maintained Chinese with a nice dye tone and street cred, were it not for the camouflage cap carrying the six inch brass/gold SIXERS on the crest. In Asia, or SE Asia at least, arty types were permitted flaunting. WTF? Cop this, people! Watch your eye-balls don’t pop out now…. (Perhaps it was the same London & NY at the upper levels.) The old painter had picked her up on the Mainland, HK or Macao maybe. Graduated from rag ‘n bone to commercial galleries across the region, chap was a bona fide star now. Ah well, good luck to you Joe; man had certainly earned his stripes. The old bachelor who had been put up by an indulgent brother many years would make a good father to the Sixers’ young lad. Would HK, Shanghai and Shenzhen put an end to the dazzling output? It was a question; in the lap of the Art gods. As regular readers will recall, the tip to buy had been given early on, well before the fellow had been taken up. (Now Eric at the art supply on North Bridge Road wiould be getting back the owings from his years of quiet support.)

NB. Art Star 1#, the compatriot performance artist and portraitist Mike Parr, had been met at a Sing. cafe couple of years ago. The self-portraits available online give a good indication of the stature. Tan Chong Bin is the name of this other.




Wednesday, December 19, 2018

Publication news: The Minangkabau - Bitterzoet Mag.


Hello all

A US lit. mag. called Bitterzoet has recently published an item of mine titled “The Minangkabau.”
A short free online, see how you like it —

https://bitterzoetmag.com/2018/12/15/the-minangkabau-by-pavle-radonic

(Bitterzoet is Dutch for bitter-sweet; the Minangkabau are a large matriarchal group located in Central Sumatra, Indonesia.)

Salam & shanti
Pavle

Monday, December 17, 2018

Dirty Dough (Prosperity) updated Oct23


The string of garlic immediately attracted. Rather beautiful to behold now, lovely as an orchid. How long had it been? Was the last sighting in one of the garages down in Melbourne, the Calabrese Sig. Niccola a few doors down, or Frane’s perhaps in Seaholme? Here you sometimes see purpled baby garlic in small baskets in the markets or provision stores; rarely was it tasted in the local food dishes and certainly not the lashings we Mediteranos use in our kitchens. At the Haig in front of Mr. Lim’s fruit stall, in the flower stall on the other side of the passage, numerous strings were hung close together holding 4, 5, 6 or more whole bunches and wrapped in blood red netting. Kinda risqué Santa socks sans foot hanging arrow straight. Well, decoration of some form or other clearly, though doubtless edible too. The Haig is a Chinese market; some of the food stalls in front are Malay and Indian, but the Chinese predominate. So, go figure…
         It would be unfair to suggest Chinese, or even diaspora Chinese in these particular conditions on the Equator, favour anything over family, clan, homeland; &etc. Perhaps if anything was to come close it was coloured paper, possibly. In Hokkien and likely Mandarin, Schwan—soft vowel as in arc—was in the costermonger’s boy Mr Lim’s translation, “calculation.”  Of course calculation equaled one thing only. The characters for “garlic” and “calculation” were different, though they were articulated precisely the same. Schwan. For the New Year, Mr Lim explained, presumably meaning the international—CNY was not until early February. The flower seller was preparing for the early birds. Nothing was more dirty than money, the Montenegrins held (because of all the hands grasping).

Saturday, December 1, 2018

Wages of Sin


Replay. Impossible to guess the number of repetitions. It was not really like it was a serious survey or investigation. Simply, you meet one of the guys and chat in passing. They look tired or something, the natural question arises: Either, when did you start? or when do you finish? And from there the follow-up. So-called “native” people, kampung folk, were used to straight talk and no shyness. (On the other side, how many times had you been asked by a perfect stranger, Are you married? Or the like.) Here the nice short Tamil stationed either at the rojak stall or collecting the plates and glasses. In this instance around at the entry to the bathroom washing out his dishrag that was used for cleaning the table-tops after collection. (Some relief to see those filthy rags washed occasionally by the way. Usually caked in grime from the regurgitated scraps &etc. left on the tables.) Started this morning at 9:45. Unusually precise answer. Oh! And finishing 10 was it? Reasonable guess. No. Not in this instance. Twelve. Midnight…. Oh. I see. Fourteen hours. Long day…. Something in the look returned led to still another enquiry. Rat smelt. Usually everyday fourteen? (Hardly likely, but the look was indeed such.) Bang-on. Bulls’ eye. Yeah, that was the term of servitude alright. Finally, and this was perhaps not 100% to the last cent: That’d get you, I reckon, say.… twelve hundred. That was what the chap got. One day off a month was standard for the foreign workforce. (Currently, in the last couple of weeks again, the question of a minimum wage raised here. Costs. Benefits. Dangers. Comparisons over the globe. A notice in this morning’s paper of a Sunday feature where the case would be argued by a proponent and a naysayer, the latter a former union head. YOU READ RIGHT. That is the state of labour-government relations in this republic.)